Chapter Sixteen #2
“For God’s sake, it’s a Halston, Ransom,” Jacqueline said. “Jackie O. wears Halston. It’s not exactly scandalous.”
Ransom was quiet for a moment. “Miss Rojas, what do you think?” he asked.
Ana was a little caught off guard that he was asking her opinion about anything, let alone a decision that he had flown all the way across the country to make himself in person.
“Honestly? I think it’s very pretty,” Ana said. She lowered her voice so only he could hear. “And in the interest of making our dinner reservation, it may be the best compromise you’re going to get today.”
Ransom thought a moment and then sighed heavily. “Fine,” he said, barely placated. “I can see I’m outnumbered.”
As the shop attendant started taking Saoirse’s measurements for alterations, Ransom turned back to Ana.
“You’re not going to try anything on?” he asked.
Ana couldn’t imagine what one of these dresses would cost—probably her entire paycheck for the summer. Maybe more. What a waste to spend so much money on something you’d wear once and then hang in the back of your closet.
“I’m more of a JCPenney girl,” Ana said.
“I see,” Ransom said. He turned to one of the shop attendants. “Alexandra, see if you can’t find something for Miss Rojas here. And put it on my tab.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to—” Ana started, but Ransom ignored her.
“The blue-green Yves Saint Laurent dress in the window would suit her,” Ransom said.
“The strapless crepe gown?” Alexandra asked.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Excellent choice, sir,” Alexandra said. “I’ll be right back.”
In the dressing room, Ana stood still as Alexandra slipped the dress on over her head and then did the zipper and clasps at the back. She felt ridiculous having someone dress her, but the closures on the dress were too cumbersome and out of reach to manage by herself.
The dress was a deep ink blue, almost teal.
It was simple, in a way: strapless, cut straight across the bodice, falling in a column to the floor.
One side of the skirt was draped and pinned to the bottom of the bodice, which ended at the natural waist, and the other had a thigh-high slit that made the dress easy to walk in.
Ana hated to admit it, but she had never felt anything so luxurious and smooth against her skin before, and when the clasps were done, it fit her body just so.
Once she was dressed, Alexandra ushered her out into the common area of the dressing room. Ana begrudgingly stepped up onto the pedestal, facing the three-paneled mirror, and took in her reflection.
She was still herself, but it was as though the dress heightened and underlined her best features.
The color brought out the radiant blue-green of her eyes, the dark olive of her skin.
The cut skimmed her slim figure and showed off the sharp blades of her collarbones, the soft slope of her shoulders.
“What do we think?” Alexandra asked, although Ana couldn’t help but feel the question was directed more at Ransom than herself.
She glanced up at his reflection in the mirror.
He was holding the magazine absently in his hands, as if he had forgotten it existed.
His gaze swept her body, but she couldn’t read his expression.
His mouth was drawn in a tight line, and for a moment, he didn’t speak.
“It’s impeccably cut,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Exquisite craftsmanship.”
“We’ll need to take it in at the waist, just a bit,” Alexandra said, surveying her. “And have it hemmed. But this dress was made for you. You’re a knockout in it.”
Ana caught sight of the price tag—the dress was over a thousand dollars. She felt sick to her stomach.
“I really don’t think I can accept this,” Ana said. “It’s too much.”
“I insist,” Ransom said.
She opened her mouth to object, but Ransom cut her off.
“In the interest of making our dinner reservation, Miss Rojas,” he said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “take the compromise.”
Ana locked eyes with him for a moment in the mirror. There was something heavy in her throat; she couldn’t swallow. Then, Ransom looked away.
Afterward, they went to their hotel—the Duchess in Beverly Hills.
It was just as Ana had always imagined it would be from the way Rosie had described it: pearl white, five stories tall, with arches in the entryway and palm trees dotting the drive.
The valet came running to take Ransom’s car as soon as they pulled up, and as they walked through the marble lobby, Ana couldn’t help but glance at the hostess desk, even though she knew that Rosie wouldn’t be there.
Through the lobby and to the left was the Sunset Lounge, with its white-clothed tables and forest green velvet booths. The busboy filled their water glasses from a pitcher as soon as they sat down, and another boy brought a basket of bread rolls warm from the oven.
“Do you always stay here?” Ana asked as she opened her menu. “At the Duchess?”
“It was Mother’s favorite,” Saoirse said. “We stayed here anytime we were in the city. So it sort of feels like a home away from home now, I guess.”
When the waiter returned, Ransom ordered bluefin tuna tartare for the table to start.
Ana chose lobster risotto in parmesan and mascarpone cheese for her meal, because Rosie had told her that was the best thing on the menu.
Rosie used to sneak bites of it from the half-eaten room service trays in the kitchen.
Ana heard her name, and she glanced up to see the whole table looking at her.
“Sorry?” she said.
“Where were you just now?” Jacqueline asked. “You looked a million miles away.”
“Just tired, I guess,” Ana said.
“We were asking if you’d want to go see Sweeney Todd,” Jacqueline said. “It’s playing at the Pantages tonight.”
“The one where a mad barber slits men’s throats with his razor blade?” Ana asked.
Jacqueline nodded enthusiastically. “And bakes their remains into meat pies,” she said. “It’s supposed to be terribly fun.”
“Sorry,” Ana said. “I think I’ll sit this one out.”
“Spoilsport,” Jacqueline said. “Ransom, what about you?”
“I have some reading to catch up on,” Ransom said. “But you ladies go and have a good time.”
“Just us, then,” Jacqueline said to Saoirse, raising her water glass. “To a proper girls’ night out.”
They emphatically clinked glasses.
“So, Ana, tell us,” Jacqueline said, taking a sip of her water. “Do you have a special fella in your life?”
“Or girlfriend,” Saoirse interjected.
“Mm, yes, of course,” Jacqueline said. “All types welcome. We’re not puritans here.”
“Oh, um, no,” Ana said. “I’m not really looking for anything like that at the moment.”
“What about Mr. Santos?” Saoirse asked.
“Oh, yes,” Jacqueline said. “He’s a very nice-looking man.”
“I guess,” Ana said, wanting desperately for this line of questioning to end. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Objectively speaking.”
“The two of you are always sitting next to each other at the breakfast table, whispering together,” Saoirse said. “You’re not sweet on him?”
Ana could feel Ransom’s eyes on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
“I don’t think we whisper,” Ana said, perturbed. “We converse at a normal volume.”
“Well, I can never hear what you’re saying to each other.”
“Well, maybe that’s because we’re not talking to you,” Ana quipped.
She recoiled a bit at her own words. She hadn’t meant to lose her cool.
Jacqueline laughed. “Zing, darling!” she said.
Saoirse rolled her eyes. “Jesus,” she said. “It was just an observation.”
Luckily, the tuna tartare arrived then, and the table was distracted by the distribution of appetizer plates and placing more drink orders.
After dinner, they went upstairs to their shared suite on the top floor.
Ana had never stayed in a suite with multiple rooms before.
This one was like a large, expensive apartment.
There was a formal living room and a separate dining room with a long table and twelve high-backed chairs.
They had a balcony with a view all the way to the ocean and three bedrooms all with their own bathrooms.
As Saoirse and Jacqueline got ready to go out, Ana took a hot bath and then put on her pajamas.
She lay down, but sleep evaded her, so after an hour or so, she got up and padded out to the living room to watch some TV.
She was surprised to see Ransom there. She figured he would have retired to his own room by now, but he was sitting on the sofa, writing in a notebook.
He closed it quickly and set it aside when he saw her.
“Sorry,” Ana said. “I didn’t realize you were out here.”
“No, it’s fine,” Ransom said. “Come in.”
Ana hesitated. “I was going to watch something, but I don’t want to bother you.”
“Help yourself,” Ransom said, picking the remote off the coffee table and handing it to her. “It won’t bother me.”
Ana took the remote and settled on the other side of the sofa, an arm’s length from where Ransom sat.
She turned on the television and flipped to MTV.
The music video for “Our Lips Are Sealed,” by the Go-Go’s, was playing.
Ransom turned off the overhead lamp he’d been using, and the room was sheathed in darkness, dimly lit by the glow of the television.
“What were you writing?” Ana asked, glancing over at him.
“Just taking some notes about my day,” Ransom said.
“You keep a diary?” Ana asked, her voice teasing.
“Not a diary,” Ransom said, “a journal. I’m not a thirteen-year-old girl.”
“Clearly.”
“What?” Ransom said defensively. “A lot of respectable people keep journals: Leonardo da Vinci, for one. Frida Kahlo. Mark Twain.”
“Judy Blume heroines.”
Ransom cracked a rare smile. “What do you have against journaling?”
“Nothing,” Ana said. “I’m just having a hard time squaring it with your character is all.”
“How so?”
“I mean, you always seem so serious and, like, dour,” Ana said. “Not someone who reflects on how their day went or how they’re feeling.”
“Dour?” Ransom repeated.